you want to go to breakfast while I hunt up a maintenance man? I don't know how long I'll be.'
*I grew up with forklifts/ Garth said. 'Shall I have a look?'
She tilted her head to look at him. 'Do scientists do research with forklifts?'
He laughed and went through the loading door to the flatbed of the truck. 'Minnesota farm boys use forklifts. And fix them regularly.' He conferred briefly with the driver, who found a toolbox in the cab of the truck, and then turned to Stephanie. 'How long is breakfast served?'
'For three hours.'
Til have an impressive appetite.' He bent over the motor, working quickly and easily. 'Try it,' he said to the driver after a few minutes, and when the engine started he walked back, smiling, to Stephanie. 'Science is wonderful.'
'So are Minnesota farm boys.* Reaching up, she ran her finger along his forehead and brought it away covered with grease.
He smiled ruefully and spread his blackened hands. 'I never could work on an engine without carrying away half its grease. My mother used to comment on that. Where can I wash up?'
'Through there and down the hall.*
'Don't go away.'
•I won't.'
He went off with long strides, still feeling her touch. And when he returned, he found her in the same place, signing the delivery slip.
For breakfast, Stephanie had gotten permission to take Garth to the dining room of Wyndham House, the best on campus, usually reserved, with the upstairs bedrooms, for visiting alunmae and parents. As they studied their menus beside a large window overlooking the campus, she snatched glimpses of him, taking pleasure in the strong lines of his face. His brown eyes were deep-set above prominent cheekbones, his mouth was wide, his strong chin marked with a cleft. When he smiled, fine lines radiated firom the comers of his eyts, disappearing into his thick black hair. Everything about him was clearly defined; nothing was blurred or soft. Even his voice, deep and resonant, could reach the back of the largest lecture hall without straining.
'Do you still have your farm?' she asked when they had ordered.
'No. I gave it to my sister and her husband.' Now that she was asking the questions, he talked easily, telling her about the farm carved out by his grandfather - wheat glistening gold beneath the sun, the feel of the earth when he worked it, the solitary hours he spent as a boy, dreaming of being a famous scientist, and the hours of close companionship with his father, learning all he knew so that when he retired, Garth could manage the farm.
'A peaceful, secure childhood,' he told Stephanie as the waitress brought pancakes and sausages and filled their coffee cups. 'A loving one. Everything in its place; no doubts about the future.'
'But it all changed?' she asked when he fell silent.
'It all changed.' He paused, remembering. 'When I was eighteen I had a scholarship to college -1 would have been the first of our clan to go. But I had to give it up to manage the farm when my parents were killed in an automobile accident.'
Stephanie drew in her breath. 'You say it so calmly—'
'I didn't at the time. It destroyed almost everything I believed in. But it was eight years ago,' he added gently.
Eight years ago, she thought. He was eighteen, his parents were dead and he was running a farm. No wonder he thought I was young; I haven't done anything. 'Did you run the farm?' she asked.
'For a year. My sister was still in high school, and I stayed with her; I was the only family she had. When she married right after graduation, I gave her the farm as a wedding present.' He paused again, looking out at the snow-covered campus. 'And then I came to New York, looking for another world where everything was in its place and there was a chance of predicting the future.'
'Science,' Stephanie ventured.
He nodded, smiling at her. She listened so carefully he thought she might hear all the unspoken words - about his poverty in New York, and his isolation, so different from that on the
*I grew up with forklifts/ Garth said. 'Shall I have a look?'
She tilted her head to look at him. 'Do scientists do research with forklifts?'
He laughed and went through the loading door to the flatbed of the truck. 'Minnesota farm boys use forklifts. And fix them regularly.' He conferred briefly with the driver, who found a toolbox in the cab of the truck, and then turned to Stephanie. 'How long is breakfast served?'
'For three hours.'
Til have an impressive appetite.' He bent over the motor, working quickly and easily. 'Try it,' he said to the driver after a few minutes, and when the engine started he walked back, smiling, to Stephanie. 'Science is wonderful.'
'So are Minnesota farm boys.* Reaching up, she ran her finger along his forehead and brought it away covered with grease.
He smiled ruefully and spread his blackened hands. 'I never could work on an engine without carrying away half its grease. My mother used to comment on that. Where can I wash up?'
'Through there and down the hall.*
'Don't go away.'
•I won't.'
He went off with long strides, still feeling her touch. And when he returned, he found her in the same place, signing the delivery slip.
For breakfast, Stephanie had gotten permission to take Garth to the dining room of Wyndham House, the best on campus, usually reserved, with the upstairs bedrooms, for visiting alunmae and parents. As they studied their menus beside a large window overlooking the campus, she snatched glimpses of him, taking pleasure in the strong lines of his face. His brown eyes were deep-set above prominent cheekbones, his mouth was wide, his strong chin marked with a cleft. When he smiled, fine lines radiated firom the comers of his eyts, disappearing into his thick black hair. Everything about him was clearly defined; nothing was blurred or soft. Even his voice, deep and resonant, could reach the back of the largest lecture hall without straining.
'Do you still have your farm?' she asked when they had ordered.
'No. I gave it to my sister and her husband.' Now that she was asking the questions, he talked easily, telling her about the farm carved out by his grandfather - wheat glistening gold beneath the sun, the feel of the earth when he worked it, the solitary hours he spent as a boy, dreaming of being a famous scientist, and the hours of close companionship with his father, learning all he knew so that when he retired, Garth could manage the farm.
'A peaceful, secure childhood,' he told Stephanie as the waitress brought pancakes and sausages and filled their coffee cups. 'A loving one. Everything in its place; no doubts about the future.'
'But it all changed?' she asked when he fell silent.
'It all changed.' He paused, remembering. 'When I was eighteen I had a scholarship to college -1 would have been the first of our clan to go. But I had to give it up to manage the farm when my parents were killed in an automobile accident.'
Stephanie drew in her breath. 'You say it so calmly—'
'I didn't at the time. It destroyed almost everything I believed in. But it was eight years ago,' he added gently.
Eight years ago, she thought. He was eighteen, his parents were dead and he was running a farm. No wonder he thought I was young; I haven't done anything. 'Did you run the farm?' she asked.
'For a year. My sister was still in high school, and I stayed with her; I was the only family she had. When she married right after graduation, I gave her the farm as a wedding present.' He paused again, looking out at the snow-covered campus. 'And then I came to New York, looking for another world where everything was in its place and there was a chance of predicting the future.'
'Science,' Stephanie ventured.
He nodded, smiling at her. She listened so carefully he thought she might hear all the unspoken words - about his poverty in New York, and his isolation, so different from that on the
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